


i wrote a poem about eating a girl bleu

by faaulkner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Masturbation, Self-Discovery, Sexuality Crisis, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faaulkner/pseuds/faaulkner
Summary: She can’t bear to consider the contradictions, the two warring consumptions of girls and women, and so she doesn’t.
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs/Marissa Schurr (one-sided)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	i wrote a poem about eating a girl bleu

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of [this poem](https://grendelmenz.tumblr.com/post/611678118919503872/some-sort-of-love-poem) by Grendel Menz.

At first, Abigail thinks she just wants to _be_ Marissa.

Marissa is prettier than her, more well liked than her. More than once it’s dawned on Abigail that Marissa most likely only still bothers with her because they’ve been friends for so long.

They have mutual friends, sure, but when everyone is together they all seem to gravitate towards _Marissa_ , Abigail included but basking in the sidelines. _Of course_ it makes sense that she wants that for herself, feels a small curl of jealousy any time she catches Marissa laughing with someone else.

Her theory becomes a bit muddled when Marissa goes out with a boy for a few months their junior year. He’s nice enough, at the very least decent looking, and Abigail _hates_ him. Any time she happens to be in their presence she searches desperately for some concrete reason to justify her loathing. She fantasizes about him performing some unforgivable social faux pas, and Marissa being so disgusted she breaks up with him on the spot. It’s those moments when Abigail feels like she’s truly gone crazy. If anything, shouldn’t she want him too, if she yearns so much to be like her friend? Or shouldn’t she be a normal human being and just be _happy_ for her?

Marissa calls her when she and the boy end things for good. They sit on the phone for an hour, Marissa mostly sniffling and Abigail mostly fighting to not say good riddance. It’s only when they go to hang up, and Marissa says a teary, “ _You’re my best friend, Abigail_ ” that something inside her simultaneously falls into place and is torn to shreds.

 _Oh_. It feels like every cell in her body it saying it. _Oh, oh, oh_.

She doesn’t believe it, at first. It’s a weird teenage phase, some delayed aspect of puberty that all the books and videos failed to mention to her. But the more she thinks about it, the more everything seems to spell itself out for her. Like a new language that’s been illegible to her up until this exact moment.

She wants to draw some line between herself and the hunting, some sort of weird wilderness lesbian stereotype, but even that’s a little much for her.

Besides, hunting is something she primarily does with her dad, and she’s unable to even fathom meshing the two ideas of herself together. This new uncovered part of herself is sacred, shiny with disuse, and the things she does with her dad…they just don’t exist on this level. She can’t bear to consider the contradictions, the two warring consumptions of girls and women, and so she doesn’t.

(More times than she can count, she tries to tell her mom. Over breakfast, while doing the dishes together, when she hugs her after coming home from school. She never follows through with it. She regrets it for the rest of her life.)

What strikes her after the Realization is just how _little_ things have changed. It’s all she can think about, and yet no one else seems to see it in her eyes. She feels like there should be some sort of mark on her, singling her out from the rest of her friends and classmates as someone altered. But life goes on around her, people talk and laugh and come together and break apart, somehow unaware of the way she’s gone stagnant before them.

It’s the hardest with Marissa. Abigail’s always been too scared to get close to her, always too scared to touch, but now she knows the reason _why_. She begins to wonder if not knowing had been easier after all. She also begins to wonder whether she should feel pleased or ashamed every time Marissa so much as hugs her.

“Can I show you something?” Marissa asks her one day. “Don’t judge me.”

Abigail can only shrug. She’s more than used to being a willing accessory to her whims at this point.

Marissa opens up her laptop and and balances it precariously atop both of their laps (they’re sitting close enough in Marissa’s bed that Abigail can feel her warmth from shoulder to ankle, like they always have, and she’s starting to get sore from holding her position so firmly but she doesn’t dare move). She pulls up a website that Abigail has never seen before but still instantly recognizes. Abigail can’t fight the childish giggle that falls from her mouth.

“What? I watch them…sometimes. Don’t you?” An uncharacteristic bout of shyness, before she seems to recover. “I really only want you to see this one, the guy kinda looks like Brandon from AmLit last year.”

She clicks on a video, a little half full progress bar on the thumbnail indicating it’s been watched before. They sit in a silence that goes from awkward to studious as a man approaches a kneeling woman, proud and erect, and she expertly begins to suck him down.

It’s not the first time she seen a penis, of course. She’s taken Biology, and even seen a few pretentious French movies on bored Saturday afternoons. But never before like this, so garish and vulgar. The man is blonde and muscular and _perfect_ , like something she’d see in a perfume ad, and not at all the kind of person she’d want to be with.

She can’t help but be thrown by the woman’s supplication, though, the way she looks up at him in near worship even with her mouth full of him. On one level Abigail knows it’s an act, just another paycheck for her, but something about it spears her to her core. Wanting someone that much, servicing them so selflessly.

(She imagines herself doing the same for a girl, for _Marissa_ , and has to stop. It feels too close to the kind of eating she’s more accustomed to, and it makes her feel sick to her stomach.)

Later that night Abigail traverses to that same website, intentionally aimless up until the exact moment it’s lighting up her screen. She dallies for a bit before giving in and searching for videos featuring only women. And these girls are not quite it either, a little too immaculate and made up as they stab at each others’ sexes with painful looking acrylic nails. But she can’t deny the effect that some of them have on her, the way their cloying sounds make her thrum between her legs in ways no male crush has ever made her.

She stays up until the early morning sun is kissing the sky light, and pays for it sorely when she’s exhausted all day at school. But she can’t feel upset at the fact, remembering the way she’d finally brought herself off just as the birds had started to sing outside her window.

She tries to not make it a habit. She _definitely_ tries to not wonder if Marissa has ever watched the same type of videos in all of her wanderings. It’s still an ache, looking at her, but Abigail can’t see herself doing anything to abate it. She can only take things day by day, learn how difficult it is to not tarnish something that will never be hers. She doesn’t realize it yet, but her dad’s control is beginning to slip.

Several months later, when Abigail’s entire world is turning in on itself, she ascends the stairs of her dad’s hunting cabin and finds Marissa’s bloodied and bared body, skewered on a set of antlers. She’s with the people who’ve recently invaded her life and claim they want to help her, but all they seem to do is eye her like they’re unsure whether she’s going to destruct herself or others first (the more quiet man, the one who seems to watch her the most, _he_ did this, _he_ took Marissa away from her, but Abigail won’t know this for a while).

Abigail wants to cry, but she can’t. She wants to scream for hours, but she doesn’t. She allows the kind woman to hold her outside the cabin, speak softly to her even as all sorts of professionals mill around them. The words are meaningless to Abigail, don’t even register to her, but she still pretends to listen. The woman thinks she’s helping. Who is Abigail to take that from her?

She still feels changed, but this time she knows that everyone can see it. Can smell it on her, like even her scent’s been messed up. She can feel the way they glance at her out of the corners of their eyes, the way she’d once thought they did for such a different reason. They think she did this, and she supposes she did, in a roundabout way. Even if she’d never dare, she’d been the one to bring them all here. She should have remembered the simple fact that she trails blood and viscera behind her like breadcrumbs in a forest. Her dad may be gone, but she’d have to be stupid to think it’d stop him from dragging her along the path with him.

Turns out she didn’t even have to touch Marissa to hurt her, after all.

Even as she stares unseeing at the ground, Abigail knows she won’t tell them the things she knows. There’s no one left to keep her secrets for, but she’s accustomed to it by this point. Holding something inside her, even when it feels like it’s screaming from every inch of her.

Not for the first time, she wonders if it’s going to kill her someday. If it does, she knows she has a long line of ravaged girls waiting to greet her.

**Author's Note:**

> Allusions to cannibalism aside, writing this was waaaaaay more cathartic than I'd ever anticipated. My lesbianism has brought me pain and confusion, but it's an integral part of me and I wouldn't trade it for anything.


End file.
